


Ink and Incubi

by underoriginal



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Erestor is ace as unfuck, Established Relationship, Incubus Glorfindel, M/M, but they're all still elves and dwarves they just have cars now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underoriginal/pseuds/underoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel is a freelance incubus who only has a vague idea of what clothes are. Erestor is the asexual as unfuck owner of a rare bookshop who will do anything to prevent someone from buying his books. A few months ago, Erestor accidentally summoned Glorfindel and can't figure out how to make him leave. Together They Fight Crime. More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Stealing From Erestor Is Unwise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melkoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melkoring/gifts).



“Morning, kitten. Ready to face the day?”

Erestor rolled over with a groan, staring up at his houseguest. The incubus’s wide eyes glowed gold in the early morning gloom.

“What time is it?” Erestor mumbled.

Glorfindel, the incubus in question, laughed. “It’s six o’clock. You said you wanted to be up at the crack of dawn and look. It’s dawn.”

“It’s just an expression,” Erestor said but he looked. Sure enough, the sky was beginning to lighten. Not much, but enough that he could just make out the features of his room and Glorfindel sitting on the edge of the bed.

Glorfindel stroked a dark skinned hand through Erestor’s hair. “You can’t stay in bed all day, kitten. Come on, I made you breakfast.”

Sure enough, the scent of perfectly cooked breakfast wafted from the kitchen. Erestor hauled himself out of bed and started looking for his clothes. He eventually found them on top of the closet behind his jewelry box. 

“Would you please stop hiding my clothes?” he demanded, putting in his favorite blue feather earrings.

Glorfindel shrugged, somehow managing to make the gesture look heavy with enticing promise. Erestor rolled his eyes.

“At least put on some pants,” he said, tossing his second favorite pair of sweatpants in Glorfindel’s general direction.

Glorfindel slipped them on with only mild complaining, but left his chest bare, with the obvious exception of his nipple piercings. Erestor had long ago accepted the fact that Glorfindel could be convinced to wear a shirt or pants, but never both at the same time. Unfortunately, he had yet to find a dress that could hold all of Glorfindel’s rippling abs and manly physique and he didn’t have the money for a professional tailor.

By the time Erestor made it all the way out into the kitchen, Glorfindel had finished the coffee and a steaming mug laid on the table next to a plate of bacon and eggs. He hadn’t turned on the lights. 

“You know, elves need a little bit of light to see by,” he pointed out, flipping the light switch. He regretted it almost instantly. Glorfindel’s gold dreadlocks caught the light, sending it spiralling throughout the room brighter than Erestor would have dreamed possible only a few short months ago.

“So do we,” Glorfindel said, sitting opposite him. “But I know my way around here. I would have thought you did too.” Erestor couldn’t help but be impressed by how Glorfindel managed to make sentences like that sound sexy.

He turned his attention to his breakfast. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Erestor ate.

“Are you planning on opening the shop today?” Glorfindel asked, absentmindedly twirling a fork in has hands.

Erestor shrugged. “It’s a Saturday,” he pointed out. “Anyone could waltz in here on a Saturday.”

Glorfindel frowned. “You’d think that would be good for business,” he mused.

“It is,” Erestor said with a shudder.

There was a crash from the front of the shop. Erestor and Glorfindel shared a look.

Before Erestor had time to blink, Glorfindel was in the doorway, looking into the front room of the bookshop. “Thieves,” he whispered, more a hiss than any real word.

Erestor sighed. He had been robbed a few times before, but luckily it was usually teenagers looking for a little fun and they didn’t bother to take more than the little bit of cash he kept in the cash register. At this point, it was more of an irritation than anything else. He could see them look around, before they moved, probably thinking they were being quiet, towards the register.

“Just ignore them,” he said. He would have liked to finish his breakfast, but luck was rarely on his side.

“And let them take what rightfully belongs to you?” Glorfindel snarled. He didn’t move from the doorway, his eyes glinting as he tracked the thieves’ moves.

“I keep an inventory for a reason,” Erestor replied. “I can get the money back.”

For a moment it seemed like Glorfindel would listen to him, but as soon as he left the doorway, light from the kitchen streamed into the shop. The thieves were in the kitchen barely a heartbeat later, four of them, all armed with handguns and wearing ski masks. Erestor’s hands started shaking. He had always tried to avoid conflict.

“Put your hands up!” the one at the front yelled, voice shaking.

Erestor obeyed, glaring at Glorfindel until he did the same. “Look, we don’t want any trouble, kid,” Erestor said.

“Shut up!” the kid shouted. “Just shut up.” His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold the gun. Behind them, one of the thieves went tried the door to the back room.

“It’s locked, man,” he called. “What do we do?”

“Where’s the key?” the first thief shouted. “Where is it?”

Erestor couldn’t breath, let alone speak. Out of the corner of his eye, so saw Glorfindel watching the whole thing with an air of detached amusement. 

“All the money’s in the register,” Erestor explained, keeping his voice by level by sheer of will. “The key to the register is in the front desk.”

“I don’t care about the money,” the kid said. “Where’s the key to the back room?”

“Why do you want to know?” Glorfindel asked. Every eye turned towards him.

“Shut your mouth,” the kid ordered. “I’m the one with the gun.”

“I noticed,” Glorfindel purred idly with a gentle smile that set the thief’s hands trembling even harder. “But I can’t exactly answer questions with my mouth closed.” He ended the sentence with a grin that promised any number of interesting things he could be doing with his mouth instead.

Erestor resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Glorfindel, that’s enough,” he said, regretting it almost instantly now that the attention was back on him.

“Where’s the key to the back room?” the kid asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. His eyes kept flicking back to Glorfindel.

Erestor hesitated. He kept all his rare and valuable manuscripts back there. Lindir often joked that Erestor would die before he let anyone into his back room. It hadn’t been funny then and it definitely wasn’t funny now.

“The key’s in my room,” he said, turning to go get it. That proved to be a mistake.

A gunshot rang out. Erestor flinched and fell to the floor, expecting a jolt of agony, but nothing came. Slowly, he turned around.

Glorfindel stood between him and the thieves, massive red and gold wings sprouting from his bare back and filling the room. “I was willing to let this go without violence,” he whispered and the sounds reverberated throughout the entire room, echoing in Erestor’s bones. “But I see no reason not to match violence with equal violence.” The lights flickered and flared but Glorfindel glowed bright enough to fill the darkness.

To his credit, the lead thief still had the presence of mind to try talking. “You know what they say, man,” he offered weakly, the gun slipping from his fingers. “An eye for an eye and all that.”

“They do say that, yes,” Glorfindel agreed and suddenly he had to bend over nearly double to look the kid in the face. “But I don’t need eyes to see.” His left hand was curled in a loose fist, but he held the kid’s chin delicately between his long talons.

Some stern, sensible part of Erestor’s brain fought it’s way up through his sheer terror. “Enough,” he snapped. “That’s enough.”

Glorfindel opened his hand and a red hot bullet clattered to the floor. “Go,” he said, stepping away from the kid. “Do not let me catch you here again.”

The thieves ran for it.

Glorfindel took a deep breath and the wings vanished, the lights came back on, and everything seemed like it was back to normal. It was a few more moments until Erestor trusted himself to try to speak.

Glorfindel turned to look at him. After a moment, he knelt down at Erestor’s side.

“I’m sorry, kitten,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Now that the danger was over, Erestor curled himself into a little ball on the floor, waiting for the shaking to subside. He wasn’t sure if he was more scared of the thieves or of Glorfindel. Actually, no. He knew exactly which one he was more afraid of.

“Leave me alone,” he ordered.

He could feel Glorfindel’s breath on his neck as the incubus leaned closer for a second, but a moment later, Glorfindel was gone.

Erestor counted to sixty before he stood. The kitchen was empty except for the bullet cooling on the floor and his plate of eggs. By now, the sun had risen enough that he could see into the main bookshop.

A window had been broken, but there was no glass on the floor or the sidewalk. 

“He can clean up the glass, but he can’t put it back together,” Erestor muttered to himself.

After making sure nothing had been stolen, Erestor grabbed his keys and his favorite coat. “I’m going out,” he called. “I have to buy a new window. Watch the store while I’m away. Don’t let anyone take anything.”

“What if they pay for it?” Glorfindel asked from somewhere in the depths of the store.

“Don’t care,” Erestor said. “Don’t let anyone take anything. And no murder.”

He pretended not to hear Glorfindel’s groan of disappointment. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This war has gone on long enough. The last thing we need is something else to fight over.”

The demon looked over his coffee at the other patron of the cafe. “And yet, while they exist, someone will try to fight over them. We have to get there first.”

The other being drew himself up in indignation. “Who said anything about we, scum? I am grateful that you told me of their existence, but I have no further use for you.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, not that it could be seen under his mask. “What makes you think you’re the one in control here?” He draw a small object out of jacket pocket and laid it on the table.

“What’s this?” the other being asked, reluctant to touch it.

“It’s just a recorder,” the demon said. “You really haven’t been down here in a while, have you?”

“It’s quendi technology?” the other being asked.

“Technically no,” the demon corrected. “But it’s based on the same concept. I’ve gotten into the habit of putting these on the little guys. You know, petty thieves and such. Keep tabs on what’s going on.”

The other being’s hand drifted towards the sword at his hip. “You’ve been spying on us,” he accused.

The demon laughed. “Calm down. I haven’t been spying on y’all, I’ve just been spying in general.”

The other being didn’t seem to think that was a convincing argument. Before he could draw his sword, the demon continued.

“I picked up some interesting stuff. Listen to this.”

He waved a hand over the device. Both of them listened in silence. The other being’s face grew increasingly shocked, while the demon’s grew increasingly smug. It was times like this, he thought, that he regretted wearing a mask.

The recording ended. The demon put it back in his jacket. “That’s not the best part,” he said.

The other being looked much more interested now. “What is the best part?” he asked.

“Look at the coordinates,” the demon prompted.

“That’s where-” the other being started.

“Yeah,” the demon said. “He’s been there the whole time.”

The other being stared at the table in astonishment. “We found him,” he whispered. “We found him.”


	2. In Which Bilbo Dispenses Sage Advice

Durin Hardware was one of those places that was open seven days a week for no other reason than that no one who worked there had anything meaningful to do with their time other than sell hardware. Erestor’s bookshop would have been one of those places if he kept it open with any regularity. As far as he was convinced, if you wanted a book that bad, you had to work for it. The hardware store was adjacent to Baggins Blossoms, a hobbit florist who was in a steady, if unorthodox, relationship with Thorin Oakenshield, the owner of Durin Hardware. 

Erestor pulled up in the Baggins Blossoms parking lot because Bilbo rarely saw too many customers at once, except around Valentine’s Day. Not only that, but Bilbo often gave very good advice, whether or not Erestor wanted it.

“Oh, good morning, Erestor,” Bilbo said cheerily as he walked in. “What brings you here so early in the morning? I only just finished first breakfast.” Of course, the hobbit still looked impressively put together in his favorite red waistcoat. Erestor noticed with some amusement that he had a pocket handkerchief sticking out of every available pocket.

Erestor smiled at him. “Is Thorin awake yet?” he asked. “I need a new window.”

Bilbo laughed. “That lazy slugabed won’t be awake until second breakfast at the earliest. There’s a reason his store opens as late as it does. I can’t understand for the life of me how dwarves are so skilled and industrious and stay in bed until the sun is well on it’s way. My mother always said, ‘Bilbo, if you want to go far in life, you’ll wake up when the sun does and start your day right then.’ and that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

Erestor cut him off when he stopped for breath. “Could you have him call me when he wakes up?”

“I could,” Bilbo said, “but you’re here now and it’s a bit of a drive from your place over here so why don’t you just stay and talk for a while? I’ll put the kettle on for tea. We haven’t had any time to sit down and be neighbors in ages. Why did you say you needed a window?” He picked a pipe with blue and yellow flowers enameled on it and started smoking as he puttered over to the kettle.

Erestor resigned himself to the inevitable. “I got broken into this morning. Nothing got stolen, but the window’s beyond repair.”

Bilbo tutted. “That’s a terrible shame. When I was a lad, no one dared take another hobbit’s property. I used to have people try to break in over here, but once I started having Dwalin over for tea, they all stopped coming. But that’s a bit peculiar, isn’t it, breaking a window and not taking anything? Are you sure they weren’t just vandals? I asked some of the young folks who do graffiti to decorate the walls of my shop. It’s much cheaper than hiring a professional, but I think it turned out even better. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Bilbo grabbed by Erestor by the hand and dragged him outside. Sure enough, the walls were covered in bright murals of twisting flowers.

“It does have a certain...elegance to it,” Erestor admitted. “And yes, I’m sure it was thieves. Glorfindel scared them off.”

Bilbo gave Erestor a knowing look. “Ah, yes. Let me guess. Some nasty old thieves tried to steal your books and that incubus of yours turned into something even nastier?”

“Well, more or less,” Erestor admitted, fighting down a blush at the idea that Glorfindel was his.

Bilbo nodded sharply. “Right,” he declared. “We are sitting down and having a discussion about this. Meet me in the party tree. I’ll get the tea ready. This is gonna be a tough one.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel was worried and bored. Maybe it was strange to be feeling both at the same time but his life had always been stranger. Erestor shouldn’t have gone out alone so soon after being attacked. Who knew if those boys were still lying in wait?

With Erestor out of the house, Glorfindel had kicked off his pants and perched on top of one the bookshelves to watch for intruders.

When no intruders showed up, he picked one of the books of the shelf and started reading. It was a painfully boring treatise on battle strategies during the first age, but it had illustrations of the battle maps so at least he could run his fingers over them and remember.

A knock at the door startled him. He looked up.

A tall elf with medium brown skin and jet black hair stood just outside the doorway, his handsome face awestruck.

“Glorfindel,” he said, his voice ringing like silver bells. “It’s been too long.”

Glorfindel put his book away, but didn’t move from the shelf. “Ecthelion,” he said.

“May I come in?” Ecthelion asked. He was clad in a sky blue overcoat, but Glorfindel could see the armor underneath his glamours. At least he had left his famed helm behind.

“No,” Glorfindel said, fighting to keep his voice level. He was painfully aware of the fact that he wasn’t allowed to kill. “How did you find me?”

“Five centuries since we last met and that’s all you have to say to me?” Ecthelion demanded, but he stayed outside.

“Answer the question,” Glorfindel snapped. He crouched on the bookshelf, ready to spring if he needed to.

Ecthelion’s beautiful face creased into a frown. “It doesn’t matter how I found you. Why did you leave me? We thought you were dead!”

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side. “They declared me dead?” he asked. “I thought you couldn’t do that unless they find a body.”

Ecthelion shook his head, the bells in his braids ringing merrily. “It was never official, but they never gave me leave to search for you either. We had to assume the worst.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Keep your secrets then. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to take you home,” Ecthelion declared.

Glorfindel laughed. He laughed until his sides ached and tears of mirth streamed down his face. He laughed so hard that he nearly fell off the bookshelf and had to hold on to the sides for strength. Finally, the laughter subsided.

“I think I’ll stay,” he said.

Ecthelion stepped through the broken window. “Glorfindel,” he pleaded. “This is your chance for redemption. You can leave all this behind you. Please, Glorfindel. Come home.”

Glorfindel slipped off the bookshelf so he could look Ecthelion in the eye. He leaned in close, so close that he could almost remember the taste of Ecthelion’s lips from an age ago. “I said no,” he murmured. “I’m not leaving.”

Ecthelion shuddered and Glorfindel could hear his heart beat faster. “I need you help,” Ecthelion whispered, his voice laden with desire through all the carefully wound control. “We’ve discovered something. If it’s not taken care of, the war will resume its old fury. You’re the only one who can stop it.”

Glorfindel blinked and drew closer, placing a hand on Ecthelion’s chest, letting Ecthelion feel his warmth. He stood on his toes to whisper tenderly in Ecthelion’s ear, a hand braced on his shoulder. “So, that’s it, is it?” he purred. “You just need me to fight your battles for you.”

Ecthelion did his best to ignore Glorfindel’s advances. “It’s not just me,” he said. “We all need your help. To prevent any more bloodshed.”

It wasn’t a half bad argument. Once, it would have swayed Glorfindel. Now it just made him angry. The hand around Ecthelion’s shoulder clenched, drawing pinpricks of blood. “You think I’d still be here if I cared about your war?” he asked.

When Ecthelion didn’t respond, Glorfindel’s anger flared. He picked Ecthelion up by the collar and shoved him against an intact window, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. 

“I left because I didn’t want to be there anymore. I stayed hidden because I didn’t want to be found. I ran because I didn’t want to stand,” he snarled, his teeth sharpening and he held them as close as possible to Ecthelion’s bare neck. “Don’t you dare try to drag me back there because that’s what you want.”

Ecthelion didn’t try to struggle. “All I want is for our people to survive,” he said.

Glorfindel shoved harder and Ecthelion went through the window. “Do not come back here,” Glorfindel growled, staring down at Ecthelion, who was sprawled on the pavement.

Ecthelion nodded once and was gone.

Glorfindel grabbed his phone off the table and texted Erestor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Erestor wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had arrived. The only thing he was sure of was that Bilbo had been giving him very good advice for an interminable length of time, so long in fact that Erestor was having difficulty recalling a time when Bilbo wasn’t giving him very good advice.

“... and then the next thing you know I’m signing the contract and I said to myself ‘Bilbo, this is a terrible idea. What would your mother think if she saw her son go off to battle a demon’ but I went because a contract’s a contract…” 

Erestor tried to check his watch, only to realize that he’d left it at home. The tree rustled her leaves comfortingly. She was fond of her hobbit, but he did tend to ramble a little bit.

“... so next thing you know I’m flat on my back in an air vent trying not to sneeze from all the pollen and I thought ‘Bilbo, if you get out of this alive, you ought to be a florist.’ And just when I sneezed, the door opened…”

Whoever did the murals on Baggins Blossoms had to have been an elf because the sunflowers seemed to actually track the path of the sun and Erestor was certain he saw the moonflowers close. He suspect, but could not prove, that it was Lindir’s fault.

“...what I’m really trying to say is, if that doesn’t work out, you could always banish him back to the hellish dimension from whence he came but I know a very good couples therapist I could recommend to you…”

“Bilbo!” a voice called from inside. “Where are you?”

“Oh, that would be Thorin,” Bilbo said, leaping down from the tree. “Are you coming?”

Erestor shook himself back to consciousness and followed.

Thorin glowered in the doorway. Thorin glowered most of the time, but it was more pronounced in the early mornings.

“Bilbo,” he said in as soft a tone as he could manage, “Why is there an elf here at this hour?”

“Don’t be daft,” Bilbo said, “It’s very nearly time for second breakfast. In fact, I’ll go get started on it right now.” He bustled into the shop.

Thorin glowered up at Erestor. “Why are you here at this hour?”

“Sorry to bother you,” Erestor said. “I nearly got robbed this morning and I need a new window.” 

“One window, got it,” Thorin mumbled. “Anything else you want to bother me with?”

Erestor’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked it.

“Make that two windows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect me to keep updating this quickly. I had a few snow days. If you like the fic, please leave a review.


	3. In Which The Blackberries Are Symbolic

Ecthelion wandered down the street, not entirely sure where he meant to go. Glorfindel’s words ran through his mind over and over. Perhaps Glorfindel was correct and Ecthelion had no right to drag him back into the war. But the need should have outweighed the desire of any one of them. The war had to end and soon. Why couldn’t Glorfindel see that?

“Blackberry?”

Ecthelion looked down. A young elf with black and white hair sat on the sidewalk, a harp on their lap and a carton of blackberries in their outstretched hand.

“Pardon?” Ecthelion asked.

“Do you want a blackberry?” the elf repeated.

“No, thank you,” Ecthelion said.

The elf shrugged and started playing a soothing melody on their harp, leaving the blackberries on the ground at their side. The tune was unfamiliar, but Ecthelion knew enough about music to know that the elf was uncommonly skilled. Eventually, Ecthelion sat down next to the elf, who ignored him completely, seemingly content with their music.

“What’s your name?” Ecthelion asked.

“Lindir,” the elf said, not looking at him.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” Ecthelion had only heard one other who might have matched Lindir’s skill.

Lindir shrugged. “Here and there. Are you sure you don’t want a blackberry?”

“I’m not hungry,” Ecthelion said.

“Your loss,” Lindir said, packing away his harp in a battered guitar case. “I think we would all feel a lot better if we ate more blackberries.”

With that, they wandered off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thorin insisted on installing the windows himself. He claimed that it was just so he could charge Erestor more, but he had been looking for an excuse to meet Glorfindel since Erestor had first mentioned him. He also insisted on bringing Dwalin, Dori, and Bifur with him.

“Are you sure that incubus of yours didn’t hire those burglars to cause trouble?” Thorin asked as he herded Fili and Kili away from the panes of glass.

“He’s perfectly capable of causing trouble on his own,” Erestor said, “Why would he need to hire a band of burglars to do it for him?”

Thorin didn’t answer.

When they got back to the bookstore, Glorfindel was waiting for them, sitting on top of the desk, wearing nothing but a garish red and green Christmas sweater that had been stretched over the years until it was long enough to cover Glorfindel’s knees. Given that he was sitting with his knees up and his legs crossed, it didn’t cover very much at all.

“This is the incubus, then?” Thorin asked, not looking directly at Glorfindel.

“Rude,” Glorfindel muttered.

Erestor elected to ignore him.

“Thorin Oakenshield, this is my… guest, Glorfindel,” he introduced. 

Thorin glowered. It was at least a level 3 glower, perhaps even a level 4.

Erestor pressed on. “Glorfindel, this is Thorin Oakenshield and his employees Dwalin Fundinul, Dori Augerman, and Bifur Wright. Please be nice.”

Glorfindel’s face split into a wide, enticing grin. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’m always nice.” He slid off the counter, somehow making the movement alluring, and prowled towards the dwarves. “But I can be mean if you like,” he added, voice barely above a whisper.

Thorin’s glower skipped levels 5 and 6 altogether, landing firmly on level 7. Dwalin loomed at level 4. Bifur prepared his unintelligible yelling. Luckily, Dori salvaged the situation.

“It’s a purely platonic pleasure to meet you, Mister Glorfindel,” he said, holding out his hand for a very professional handshake.

Glorfindel stared at Dori’s hand in shock. Outside, a bird chirped. Erestor saw his opening and moved forward, catching Glorfindel around the waist and kissing the tip of his nose. Glorfindel screeched like a bird of prey and buried his face in his golden dreadlocks, quivering with embarrassment.

“I need to go...places,” he mumbled. “Do. People. Not people. Things. Places. No. Not do places.” He trailed off into wordless grumbles. 

Erestor laughed lightly and gave Glorfindel a brief hug. Glorfindel stiffened but courageously endured the romantic gesture. 

“Why don’t you go to Elrond’s Antiques and see if he has any new books for me?” Erestor suggested. “If he does, let me know or ask Aldith to bring them over, if she’s there.” Aldith Girion, the local librarian, was the only other person permitted to touch Erestor’s books. Even Elrond knew better than to do more than move boxes with books in them around. Aldith had once insinuated that someone must have had to put the books into boxes before they reached Elrond’s Antiques. Erestor had almost forgiven her.

“Sure thing, kitten,” Glorfindel said, eager to get away from the cute and cuddly feelings.

“And put some shoes on before you go,” Erestor admonished him.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, but pulled on the only pair of shoes he owned, a pair of glittery gold, thigh high boots with six inch stilettos. 

Once he was gone, Dori turned his attention to Erestor. “Kitten?” he asked.

Erestor blushed. “That’s what he likes to call me.”

Bifur laughed. Thorin’s glower softened. 

“Are we gonna install the windows or not?” Dwalin grumbled. He had already set up the frames.

“Ah, yes, of course. We will wedge windows into walls,” Dori said, hoisting Thorin onto his shoulders. Thorin carried the window with him and bolted it to the top of the frame while Dori took care of the bottom. Bifur stood on Dwalin’s shoulders to install the other window.

“So, how did you end up with a pet incubus, anyway?” Thorin asked, trying for casual. It didn’t work, but Erestor mentally gave him a few extra points for effort.

It took a moment for the question to reach his brain and when it did he blushed harder. “I was reading one of my old magic books,” he mumbled, “and I thought I should-”

“Should what?” Dwalin asked, fighting down a laugh. Given how much Dwalin fought things, he should have done a better job.

“I thought I should practice my pronunciation,” Erestor finished in a rush.

Dwalin lost the fight with his laughter, nearly throwing Bifur into the wall with the force of his mirth. Bifur kept his footing with the air of someone who had done so far too many times, perching on Dwalin’s back with the air of an unusually disgruntled cat.

“You summoned an incubus?” Dwalin laughed. “By accident?”

“I can’t be the only one,” Erestor said, drawing himself up defensively.

“Every elf errs,” Dori said gravely.

“But few as dramatically as you,” Thorin finished.

Erestor arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever studied our history?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel took the long way to Elrond’s Antiques to compose himself. Sex, he understood. Sex was something he was really good at. It came with the whole incubus thing. It was Erestor’s bizarre proclivity for romance that caught him off guard. Perhaps all that indecent hand-holding and cuddling was exciting enough that he didn’t need sex? That would explain a great deal.

At least Erestor was better than some of Glorfindel’s other conquests. For one thing, the elf was genuinely sweet and caring. Glorfindel blushed and hid a smile at the memory of some of their more tender moments. He truly was fond of Erestor, although he wouldn’t dare admit it. He had avoided telling Erestor about his past, afraid that it would get both of them into trouble, but now his past was coming after him. He would have to tell Erestor everything, and soon. The idea grated at his nerves.

Before he could start worrying too much about it, he turned the corner to Elrond’s Antiques. Elrond sat on the porch with his youngest child, Arwen, perched on his lap. On the ground next to them, Lindir was blowing bubbles. Arwen laughed and tried to catch them.

“Ah, Glorfindel,” Elrond said, “How nice to see you.” He put Arwen down and stood up. Arwen toddled over to Lindir and started tugging on their hair. Lindir gently pried her fingers off, an expression of mild worry flitting across their face. It was the closest Glorfindel had ever seen them get to a negative emotion.

Glorfindel nodded to Lindir. “Erestor wanted to know if you had any new books,” he told Elrond, staying as far back as he could. He had never really wrapped his head around normal social maneuvers, so he avoided them as much as he could.

“You’d have to ask Celebrian,” Elrond said. “She’s the one who actually knows the inventory. She’s picking Elladan up from school right now. Do you want to wait until she gets back?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do,” he said. “Where’s Elrohir?”

Elrond turned to over his shoulder. “He’s right-” His face morphed into a look of pure panic. “Lindir,” he snarled, “Where’s Elrohir?”

Lindir looked around. “I think he went for a drive,” they offered.

Elrond paled. “And you didn’t stop him?” he demanded.

“You never mentioned that I should,” Lindir pointed out.

“He’s fifteen!” Elrond shouted. “He shouldn’t be driving at all, much less without adult supervision. And the Valar know he needs adult supervision.” Muttering an impressive list of curses under his breath, he picked Arwen up and carried her into the shop, presumably to start a manhunt for Elrohir.

Glorfindel and Lindir stared at each other for a long moment. Lindir ate a blackberry. Glorfindel sat down next to them.

“You like blackberries?” he asked, at a loss for something to talk about.

“They’re good for your health,” Lindir said. “That guy with the helmet could have used a blackberry or two.”

“That guy with the helmet?” Glorfindel asked.

“The one who was looking for you,” Lindir clarified.

“How did you-” Glorfindel started, then decided he was better off not knowing. “Never mind. I guess he could have used a blackberry.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Eventually, Lindir wandered away somewhere. They left behind the carton of blackberries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear from the prose, Lindir is agender in this AU and should be referred to by they/them/their pronouns. For example, one would say "They keep their harp in a guitar case because the laws of reality are too mainstream for them."
> 
> Also, for the purposes of not making me do math, all races age the same way until they reach adulthood, so when I say Arwen is two, that's two in human years.


End file.
